


For angels to fly

by FanFicReader01



Series: Angels [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carlos deserved better, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nicholai and emotions never end well, Prostitution, Sad Ending, Songfic, im so sorry carlos, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/pseuds/FanFicReader01
Summary: On a cold, faithful evening, Nicholai finds a broken angel on the street.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Carlos Oliveira
Series: Angels [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726222
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	For angels to fly

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The A Team song (the cover version) + Give me Love also by Ed Sheeran
> 
> Dubcon becos when Nicholai meets Carlos, the poor guy is already an utter mess.

**White lips, pale face**

**Breathing in snowflakes**

**Burnt lungs, sour taste**

**Light's gone, day's end**

**Struggling to pay rent**

**Long nights, strange men**

The first time was the worst. He wasn’t really sure how to do it all. And besides, he had never done it with a man before either. Nothing could have prepared Carlos for that foreign feel of getting a dick up his ass. It wasn’t even a good looking one.

But well, he was passed the initial shame and foremost pain. And now he basically worked on auto-pilot every time he got out on the streets. Flashing fake smiles with dead eyes. Spewing words with empty promises. As long as they fill his hands with a couple of coin, he doesn’t have to mean what he says.

Tonight he is out again. The streets are slowly powdered in a layer of thin snow. It’s cold but not cold enough for the snow to stay longer than a minute. Carlos stares at the snowflakes falling onto his old battered shoes, almost immediately melting on impact. It’s a fading beauty. Carlos wonders if people think he is beautiful. 

Most of his customers didn’t care or just looked passed his flaws. They didn’t see his hollow eyes that have become black pits, with dark bags underneath them. His dry mouth. The way his hair is basically a messy bird nest but not even birds would dare to nest in that trashy excuse of a hair mop.

Maybe his customers didn’t _want_ to see all that. He couldn’t blame them, though. His shortcomings are probably excusable if people need a quick fuck. No strings or morals attached.

He probably smells bad too. He can no longer pay for the water in his continuing crumbling apartment. So cheap baby wipes it is. Still, the dirt keeps sticking to his skin like weeds. The only time he can shower is when the customer is generous enough to keep him a bit longer than he is needed. But most of the time, he gets thrown out after the deed is done. One time, he was even kicked out naked, his clothes thrown out later like it was merely an after-thought.

He tries to stop some passing cars. Some drivers give him an angry look and raise their fist at him. Some loudly honk. One person even stops by to just spit at him and throw some slurs at the guy.

Carlos decides to move to the more shadier streets that are less in the open to the public eye. As he is walking, he gets the eerie sense somebody is following him. A black car is closing in on him.

**Ripped gloves, raincoat  
Tried to swim and stay afloat  
Dry house, wet clothes  
Loose change, bank notes  
Weary-eyed, dry throat  
Call boy, no phone**

He is finally done with his work for today and is driving home, planning to stay in his jacuzzi the whole evening and maybe order some less fancy takeaway. The snow is early this year.

As Nicholai stops his car at a red light, he sees a figure on the sideway. Usually he doesn’t pay attention to civilians, unless they’re in his way but this one stands out somehow. Maybe it is the ripped clothing he wears, revealing dark skin. There’s a strange but enigmatic air about the guy. Nicholai isn’t somebody who believes in a God or anything, but the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees the younger man is an image of an angel. An angel he needs to pursue. Once the light jumps to green, he turns his car around when he can and slows down. The man stops, finally realising he is being followed. Nicholai parks the vehicle for a brief moment on the sidewalk and rolls down his window. The young man walks up to him. Darkened eyes meet his light ones. For a second he is baffled to see such dark eyes contain such desaturated colour. Almost dead eyes. But he is sure that, if he can make those eyes spark again, their _true_ intensity will shine through. Even if they’re covered now, Nicholai can see a certain beauty in it. Maybe it’s like the twisted beauty in a roadkill right after a car has run over it.

“How much?”

Nicholai, in a haze doesn’t really listen to the amount the young man tells him. Instead, he has already unlocked his car and lets him inside. The Russian is rich enough, surely he can afford some street prostitute. A beautiful one at that.

The trip to Nicholai’s place is spend in silence. Most of the time, he doesn’t screw around with street prostitutes. In the richer circles there are enough women and men alike that are drawn to him, offering themselves on a silver plate. And he is, if they’re good looking enough, happy enough to indulge in such easy, cheap meat.

They step out of his car and the smaller man obediently follows him inside the house. His eyes flutter against the bright lights of the interior. Nicholai goes straight to the bedroom, not even caring to unpack his briefcase or anything like that. Right now, he’d rather forget about his stressful day at work.

Instead, he guides the young man to his bed, pushes him onto the mattress and straddles him. His hand gets in the man’s collar as he roughly kisses him. Nicholai likes it rough. He’s all tongue and teeth. The smaller man simply goes with it. He is clearly pliable. That makes it easier for the Russian. Once he has to catch his breath, his eyes linger on the young man’s lips. They’re cracked and full. The cracks remind him of the old ceiling back in his home town. Now that he is in a better, richer place, he can almost look back fondly to his old humbler life. Then his eyes follow the man’s nose all the way to his brow and eyes. Dark, questioning eyes. They look less dull and dead than a few minutes ago. Good.

“What’s your name?” Nicholai breathes.

“Does it matter?” the man asks. Nicholai nods. “Name’s Carlos.”

“Carlos,” finally he can plaster a name to the angelic man beneath him. He pushes his back onto the mattress, hands above his head and at Nicholai’s mercy. Even in the bright light of his bedroom, the young man has desaturated colours and he wonders how he can make them pop again.

His next kiss is more tender, yet hungry enough. His lips graze over the other’s, feeling him, tasting him. Carlos tastes strange but it’s not bad. Even though Nicholai suspects the guy can’t afford proper hygiene.

The taller man strips Carlos down until there’s nothing left to hide. He kicks out his own shoes, takes off his pants and underwear. Almost white collides into a soft brown. Ready for him to absorb, consume. Restless hands wander over Carlos’ skin. Its coldness matches his eyes. Nicholai strokes them both until they’re hard. His hands spread the young man’s legs open and pushes inside. It takes some time to find a pleasurable rhythm but when he hits his prostate, Carlos whines.

Nicholai does it again and again, drawing out more lewd noises from the man’s chapped lips. When he climaxes inside of him, the Russian growls and holds on tight to Carlos’ bony shoulders. Slowly he pulls out, still keeping the other man pinned beneath him. The sight is somewhat shattering. Carlos is panting. Sweat dripping off his beautiful face. Sweat mixed with _teardrops_. He is trembling. The blankets beneath, remind Nicholai of wings. Crumpled wings, twisted by his own harsh hands. It feels like there’s blood on his hands: he has ravished an angel. _His_ angel. A sudden rush of unusual tenderness washes over him. He embraces, no- _hugs_ him. Carlos’ face pressed against his pale shoulder. Now they just lay together. They’re breathing heavily. Nicholai keeps him in his arms. All soft and no harshness. It’s like holding a doll in his hand. A broken one that is. But there’s something tragically beautiful about a broken person.

Instead of sending him out on the street again, Nicholai says: “Take a shower. I’ll give you some spare clothes to put on. Then come join me in bed.”

Carlos does as he’s told and a few minutes later the man returns to the bed. In the meantime Nicholai has slipped into comfier pyjamas.

“So-, I can stay here for the night?” Carlos sounds hesitating, maybe even suspicious.

Nicholai gives him a quiet look. The young man suddenly looks a bit more vibrant. Skin red from the scratching he must’ve done in the shower. “Yes."

The next day Nicholai’s heart feels changed. He is not sure why and how exactly. It only hits him when he sends Carlos out of his car and back into the streets that he realises. Letting Carlos stay at his place was a mistake. One of the many that will follow.

**And that I'll fight my corner  
Maybe tonight I'll call ya  
After my blood turns into alcohol  
No, I just wanna hold ya**

Days after their encounter, Nicholai keeps thinking about the handsome young man with a face, too old looking for his age. Things that shouldn’t keep him up at night. Shouldn’t make him feel alone at night. He does the unreasonable and seeks him out.

He is relieved to find Carlos at night in one of the less proper alleys of the city. He finds him in a compromising position, knees in the dirt. The Russian remains in the shadows, waiting for the man to be done and exchange hands and money. Finally Carlos stands up, wipes off his mouth and spots the tall man.

“It’s you again. Back for more?” a surprising cocky tone.

“You may call me Nicholai,” the Russian says as he is already walking away. Hurried footsteps follow behind him. When they’re at his place, Nicholai tells Carlos again to take a shower. Probably wash his mouth as well.

Carlos stares at his mirror-self once he’s brushed all his teeth, ridden himself of the nasty taste of the man in the alley. Wet strands of black hair hang in front of his face, making the circles around his eyes even darker. “What does he see in me,” he mutters to himself. He clenches his fists until his knuckles turn pale. He shouldn’t complain. This Nicholai guy paid him way more than what was necessary for such quick fuck. It allowed him to pay off rent _and_ have some decent meals as well. Unbelievable. Just like that sudden gentleness he was met with after Nicholai had basically fucked him into the mattress as if he was a beast in heat. Walking back into the bedroom where said beast awaits, he mentally braces himself for what might come.

Tonight he’ll treat his angel better. Instead of laying on top, he is the one beneath. One of his hands rests on Carlos’ cheek. He’s warmer. And softer. The filth that had been there before is gone. Clean.

“What do _you_ like, ангел?”

“I go with whatever the customer wants,” Carlos automatically replies, voice sounding detached.

_“нет_ ,” Nicholai raises his voice in unexplained frustration. He shouldn’t, but he rolls around switching their positions. “Is there really _nothing_ you prefer?” Even the rich people he’s fucked before, had at least _one_ thing they clearly liked or disliked when it came to the deed.

Carlos turns his eyes away from Nicholai’s intense gaze. “I don’t know anymore.” The last couple of months he’s spend more time doing whatever the client wanted with him to, that he has lost sense of what he _genuinely_ likes, that doesn’t originate only from his body automatically reacting to stimuli. Casual sex on his own terms seems ages ago.

The Russian is perplexed. He is overcome with a desperateness to make the man below him feel something again. To make him feel good, maybe even _loved_.

He starts with kissing the man’s plump lips. Going down, his mouth bumps into a stubbly chin and neck. He pecks at his Adam’s apple and continues his journey. Although still too skinny, it’s like some vigour has returned. Nicholai’s hands explore the hard edges and lines of the younger man. Sharp, like his stuttering breathes whenever the Russian rubs over sensitive patches of skin.

Through half closed eyes Carlos watches the older man admire his body. Long fingers trail over old and new scars. Nicholai kisses the blemishes with a softness that should be illegal. It makes Carlos emotional.

“Why?” he whispers through new formed shaped tears.

The Russian gives him a questioning look.

“What’s so beautiful about me?”

“Everything,” the older man replies without hesitation. He laps at a scar the young man had gotten from a stab wound. The wrong place and the wrong time.

_Everything_ , Nicholai repeats in his mind. From those water bleeding orbs to the dishevelled hair, from the chapped and swollen lips to the sharp lines that lead him to Carlos’ cock. He wraps his hand around it and searches for a reaction. Carlos draws out a hiss when he starts stroking him. Slowly. Almost calculated.

“You like it?” Not something Nicholai often asks of somebody.

Carlos nods and whimpers: “ _Faster._ ” The older man obeys and at one point gets his head between the man’s legs and his mouth around the tip of his dick. Another position that he usually reserves for the other. His tongue flicks out to get a quick taste. Carlos shivers above him, encouraging Nicholai to take him further into his willing mouth.

The smaller man feels dizzy and light-headed. This care and consideration wasn’t to be found the previous time. Not wanting to keep his hands idle, one of them combs through silver hair and the other hand is allowed to touch himself, caressing his chest.

Nicholai catches onto the motions and uses his left hand to mimic Carlos’. Rubbing circles over the man’s chest. Every now and then he teases a hardened nipple that makes his angel moan so sweetly.

By the time Nicholai has completely undressed as well, Carlos feels a subtle angst return. No matter how many times he’s done it, he never grew quite comfortable with anal sex. However, things seem to be different now. The older man gets something out of his night drawer. It’s a bottle of lube.

“I’ll prepare you,” he states.

Carlos turns around and lays on his belly, his buttocks exposed. The Russian puts a generous amount of lube on his fingers as he begins prepping. First one finger, then two. Eventually three are in and Carlos feels he’s properly prepared for once. Now turned onto his back, he allows himself to look at Nicholai. His eyes fixed on his. He embraces the man, pushes him onto him, deeper into him.

“ты прекрасна,” Nicholai mutters under his breath.

Their pace is much slower than their first time and Carlos finds himself enjoying it. As they near toward their climax, their movements become more erratic. In the moment of that heat, Carlos can forget about the world around him. He can forget why he is truly here and for a moment he can imagine that someone actually loves him.

**Give a little time to me or burn this out  
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around  
All I want is the taste that your lips allow**

Nicholai makes another mistake by inviting Carlos over the next week. The sex is great and a bit rougher but still filled with uncommon tenderness from Nicholai’s side. He gives him enough money for a whole month. Something tells Nicholai that that is not enough.

So his next mistake is inviting the younger man not to his house but a restaurant. A damn fancy one too. Carlos is clearly out of place. From his looks to his air. But the Russian doesn’t care about all the other eyes in the room. The ones that matter, are the ones right in front of him. There are not enough odes written to dark eyes and it’s a darn shame, he realises.

More mistakes get stacked upon each other. Nicholai asks Carlos out on an actual date. Even without the promise of money, he accepts. The young man sleeps next to him for a couple of days too.

One day, Nicholai wakes up too early. Carlos is next to him, his naked body covered by the silk sheets. He is still sleeping. Nicholai observes him for a quiet moment. The raise and fall of his chest is soothing.

His angel.

But then the Russian is hit with a voice of reason. _You are not a charity, Nicholai._ New doubts start filling the older man’s head. Does Carlos actually _love_ him? Or does he only stay for the money, that and a better roof under his head? These are questions Nicholai never had to be burdened with before so when he has to decide, he does what he should’ve done the first time around upon meeting Carlos.

He doesn’t dare to look in the other man’s eyes when he closes the door of his car and locks it tight.

**It's too cold outside  
For angels to fly  
An angel will die  
Covered in white  
Closed eye**

Nicholai’s last mistake lays before him in an shamefully expensive, raven black coffin. The wrong place, the wrong time. Killed by some street punk’s knife. The man wearing a black beanie and the guy with glasses probably wonder why such an _outsider_ like him even paid for the funeral, paid for the casket. They don’t have to know. The Russian doesn’t look them in the eye. Can’t. He doesn’t ask who they are.

“It’s a damn shame,” one of them speaks up as Nicholai makes his way to the exit.

A damn shame indeed, Nicholai thinks before stepping outside and into the rain. He should’ve buried his heart a long time ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear lord, is there ever a happy ending to any relationship where Nicholai is involved? 😅  
> Damn it, Nicholai. I hope he stayed a bit in character with some of his more twisted thoughts but I also tried to give him a softer edge as well :P


End file.
